


Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

by cyranonic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, a lot of mild insults featuring Dimitri giving as good as he gets, duels, general buffoonery and blatantly stealing from Shakespeare, masquerade balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27685304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranonic/pseuds/cyranonic
Summary: When Sylvain and Ingrid finally decide to admit their feelings for one another, the other Blue Lions conspire to get Felix and Dimitri, infamous for their constant quarreling, to do the same.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 34
Kudos: 83





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: it is based on Much Ado About Nothing and therefore has some misogyny and shaming as the result of misunderstanding

His Majesty King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the unifier of Fódlan and liberator of Faerghus, rocked impatiently back on his heels and craned his neck to peer over the walls once again. 

“Come on Dimitri,” Sylvain said easily from his side, “the messengers all said the battle was won and that casualties were few.” 

“I am aware, Margrave Gautier,” Dimitri replied, standing up on the tips of his toes to glance down towards the road one final time. Sylvain grimaced at the title. 

“The archbishop would have sent word of any serious injury,” Dedue reminded him from where he stood a few paces behind with the other members of the kingsguard. 

“I am aware,” Dimitri repeated, his jaw tightening slightly. The road was still empty. 

“Look, I know you wanted to be there, Dimitri, but you shouldn’t worry so much,” Sylvain cut in.    


“I’m not worried!” Dimitri snapped back. He ran a hand through his hair, accidentally removing most of it from the tie and letting it fall over his face again. Two years as king and he still barely managed to look the part most days. And now here he was snapping at Sylvain. 

“To the west, a wyvern!” 

Dimitri whipped around as the herald cried out and he spotted the familiar shape of Ashe, dressed in the royal blue of a knight of Faerghus. As the wyvern circled down towards the palace gates, Dimitri nearly ran down the stairs to the wall and crossed quickly to the open courtyard near the stables where Ashe would descend. 

He heard the sounds of armor and shuffling footsteps as the rest of his retinue hurried after him. There had apparently been some complaints of late from the guards about the king’s long legged strides. 

“What news from the battle?” Dimitri called out as soon as the wyvern’s claws had touched the ground. His stomach felt like a pit although Ashe was waving quite merrily in his direction. 

Ashe slid easily from the saddle and Dimitri caught a fond glance pass between him and Dedue before Ashe’s eyes finally settled on Dimitri. He sunk to a bow at once. Dimitri felt his teeth unclench just a little. Ashe looked well. 

“A victory!” Ashe said pleasantly. “Only a few of the infantry were wounded and the whole nest of vipers defeated. The archbishop burned the laboratory herself.”

“See, Dimitri,” Sylvain said, giving Dimitri a firm pat on the shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. Any great exploits, Ashe? Stories for your knightly tales?” 

“Oh, several,” Ashe said good-naturedly. “Lady Ingrid distinguished herself most notably in the battle. I believe she defeated more Agarthans than any other.” 

“That’s our Ingrid,” Sylvain laughed, although there was a shade more delight in his voice than usual. 

Dimitri cleared his throat. 

“And what of Duke Fraldarius? How many Agarthans have died by his blade? He will be quite unbearable to have at court if Ingrid has outdone him by much.” 

“Oh, Felix is very well. He served quite admirably,” Ashe said brightly, not seeming to catch the faint edge in Dimitri’s tone. “The professor, er, rather, the archbishop lent him her own sword after he fought fiercely with an armored knight.” 

“Was His Grace’s blade lacking in sharpness?” Dimitri asked. 

“Well, it was the Zoltan, Your Majesty,” Ashe said, flushing slightly as stablehands began to lead the wyvern away and help him to remove his armor. “He didn’t want to dull it.” 

“Perhaps he ought to have used his tongue, then,” Dimitri said evenly, “And spared the archbishop her sword.” 

Ashe said nothing, but raised his eyebrows. 

“I expect the rest of the force will return shortly,” Dedue finally added tactfully. “Perhaps His Majesty might dismiss this messenger to have a bath?” 

“Oh, of course, yes,” Dimitri said, abruptly embarrassed by his behavior. “And thank you for everything, Ashe.” 

Ashe nodded and bowed once more before he and Dedue took their leave.

Sylvain shot Dimitri a glance and raised an eyebrow. Dimitri knew what he was thinking. 

Dimitri and Felix were fighting again, as they were always fighting, as they had been fighting since they were children. 

While Felix remained his chief advisor and most constant companion after the war, things were still rather strained between them. Sometimes it was Felix, starting a shouting match over Dimitri’s habits or his tendency to work himself to exhaustion. Sometimes it was Dimitri, driven to fury over Felix rudeness and frankly appalling lack of tact. 

While they no longer hurled insults and snarls meant to draw blood as they had during the war, Dimitri could not quite break the habit of teasing Felix and taking his jabs in return, as much as he tried to resist the temptation. It was un-kingly, he knew, but something about the urge was irresistible. 

As much as he wanted to be sensible and serious and properly somber about his redemption, something about Felix brought out a side of him that was childish and even reckless at times. 

It was a ridiculous problem. It was particularly ridiculous because Felix was the one person he had to consult with about every significant political decision, and he inevitably ended up squabbling with him over semantics or getting chased out of his own council room bent double with laughter.

Dimitri knew he shouldn’t be laughing, particularly at Felix’s expense. He had no right to laugh or to play at insults after the things he’d done. 

The Mistake hadn’t helped matters, of course. Before the Mistake had happened, Dimitri had actually begun to enjoy the occasional moments of gentleness between them. But ever since, it was far easier to relax into the familiar, constant game of competition. 

“Raise the gate!” 

Dimitri turned as his soldiers on the wall began to open the gates of the palace. Apparently the archbishop’s victorious army had not been far behind Ashe and his scouts. As the heavy doors swung open and the metal bars were drawn up, Dimitri saw Fhirdiad spread out below the palace. The river was very blue in the spring sunshine and the apple trees were blooming pink and white. 

Distantly, Dimitri made out a column of riders approaching on the road. The archbishop and her retinue at last. 

Dimitri and Sylvain awaited them on the steps of the palace as the riders entered into the courtyard beyond the gates. Byleth swung down from her horse, the Sword of the Creator strapped to her side. She moved with the bearing of a hardened mercenary despite her new station. Ingrid was close beside her, expertly landing her pegasus and handing off her lance to an attendant before coming to kneel before the king. 

“Your Majesty,” Byleth said, nodding her head as she approached the steps. “Our campaign was a success. I thank you for the use of your knights.” 

“It is I who must thank you for removing such a threat to our kingdom,” Dimitri said with a small smile. It was good to see Byleth again. Her presence made him feel more certain of himself. “I have heard that Ingrid distinguished herself most notably in the battle.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ingrid said, her cheeks turning a bit pink with pride. “I did only as duty commanded.”

“Hey, if all this formality is over,” Sylvian suggested, “maybe we can go back to acting like actual friends and share in our victory feast? I’m sure Ingrid is half-starved from the trip.” 

Ingrid, unexpectedly, did not scowl at him for the jest. Rather, she looked almost pleased. Odd, Dimitri noted, very odd. 

“Worry about eating later,” a cold voice came from behind Ingrid. 

Felix shouldered his way through the group. His hair was windswept and his fine, sharp face set into a grim expression. There was mud from the road spattered up his legs and one hand still rested on the hilt of his sword despite the safety of the palace. “I have a report to deliver to the council.” 

“Come on, Felix,” Ingrid sighed. “I’m sure you can spare a few hours until we are all refreshed from the journey.”

“Felix would live in his bloodied armor, I’m afraid, if he were not required to change,” Dimitri added, addressing Ingrid rather than looking at Felix. “Why, I recall that when he was a child, the servants had to wrestle him into a bath each night while he protested that he would only get dirty again on the morrow.” 

Sylvain cracked up at that and Dimitri watched Felix’s scowl deepen into a glare. 

“Boar,” he said tersely. “I see you are in one of your moods again.” 

“I am in a good humor,” Dimitri retorted. “If that is what you mean.” 

“Good humor?” Felix said dryly. “Now that, I doubt. Your recent penchant for witticism has the distinctive flavor of Alois.” 

“Distinctive flavors are not my speciality,” Dimitri immediately shot back. “I have a certain numbness of the tongue. It is how I stomach your words so well, Duke Fraldarius, while others might find them tasteless.”

“If you sparred half as well with your blade as you do with your words, anymore, boar,” Felix rolled his eyes. “You might still have some value on the field.” 

“Enough of that,” Byleth interjected, her tone as calm and neutral as ever. Despite being the King of Fódlan and Duke of Fraldarius respectively, her words still silenced the both of them like guilty schoolboys. “We shall all disarm ourselves before we speak further. Sylvain, I thank you for preparing a festive welcome.” 

“No problem, professor,” Sylvain grinned. “Actually, I’ve got something extra special prepared for later. A masquerade, to celebrate your staying with us in Fhirdiad.” 

“That actually does sound wonderful,” Ingrid said with a self-conscious smile. Sylvain laughed nervously and ruffled the back of his hair.

“Great! I mean, if you want to come. I know parties and dancing aren’t your favorite, er, not to say you aren’t a great dancer, but…” Sylvain said, his usual silver tongue abruptly turned to lead. Ingrid tilted her head in a bit of confusion. Dimitri intervened.    


“Come along then,” he said with a tight smile. “We will let our war heroes have their privacy. Apparently I must prepare a meeting of my council.” 

Sylvain cast a glance back over his shoulder as they walked up the steps and back into the palace. 

Dimitri kept his eyes ahead. He had been accused before of a streak of stubborness and perhaps this was it. 

Because he absolutely refused to allow Felix to see the smile he was fighting back. 

\---

The bathhouse was rather crowded as every officer fresh from the campaign trail attempted to make themselves presentable for court in short order. Felix rinsed his hands and wiped the worst of the mud from his boots bitterly. 

What right did Dimitri have, ordering him to bathe when there were likely still remnants of the Agarthans below his very kingdom? And as neat and tidy as the king liked to appear, the hypocrite had spent at least five years wallowing in the mud like an animal.

Of course, Felix thought despite himself, there was something comforting about seeing Dimitri always so orderly and clean again. His hair was like burnished gold now that he kept it unmatted with filth and every now and then Felix caught a fresh scent of citrus while they worked closely in his closet study. 

“Did Sylvain seem… different to either of you?” Ingrid was asking as she and the professor stripped off their armor and thick padded tunics.

“He was stumbling all over himself if that’s what you mean,” Felix snorted.

“What do you think he meant with that comment about my dancing?” Ingrid asked, clearly ignoring Felix’s derogatory tone and pressing forward. “I don’t think he’s seen me dance since… well, probably since the ball at the Officers Academy. And Annette and Mercedes had me all painted up for that.” 

“What do I know? Sylvain has always been overly interested in dancing ladies,” Felix grumbled. 

“I’ve heard that lately he has rather outgrown that tendency,” Byleth added. “Or perhaps he simply has one particular person in mind he wishes to dance with.” 

“Oh,” Ingrid said, looking a little crestfallen. 

“It might even be you,” Byleth deadpanned. 

Ingrid’s eyebrows shot up and then she let out a laugh far too loud for the room. 

“Ha! As if. He knows I’d kill him if he ever tried one of his lines on me.” 

“If that garbled nonsense that comes out of his mouth whenever you’re around is a line,” Felix said, “then I’m not surprised that he’s laid his womanizing ways aside.”

Ingrid’s eyes had gone very wide. 

She seemed to have forgotten what she was doing and stood with one boot off, staring into the distance. Suddenly she turned to Byleth with an expression of horror. 

“I think I might be in love with Sylvain,” she said with a strangled sound in her throat. 

“Yes, it’s good that you’ve noticed,” Byleth said mildly in response, taking the boot from Ingrid’s hand and setting it aside. 

“What do I do?” Ingrid squeaked, looking panicked. 

“Dance with him,” Byleth commanded, as calm as if she were relaying a military strategy on the field.

Felix sighed heavily through his nose. 

“Perhaps Felix can teach you,” Byleth said, noting him again. “He has a certain talent in that area.” 

“I won your wretched White Heron Cup,” Felix snapped. “It does not make me qualified in this frankly embarrassing little seduction.” 

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. 

“This is not a seduction,” she said fiercely, beginning to enunciate her syllables in a way that invited danger. “This is… more than that.” 

“Fine then,” Felix relented, “but remember who you’re talking to. I have no interest in marriage or any such distraction.” 

“Distraction? From what?” Ingrid said indignantly, splashing him with a bit of water as she finally made it into one of the tubs. 

“From…” Felix made a frustrated gesture around the entire room. “From running a kingdom! From tracking down Agarthans, from rebellions in the south, from trade disputes with Almyra, from keeping our king from letting his council guilt him into all sorts of schemes!” 

“You recall that I am married,” Byleth said, that edge of droll humor creeping into her voice. 

“To Seteth,” Felix retorted. “That hardly counts.” 

Byleth quirked an eyebrow in warning. 

“If you have some temporary insanity making you wish to marry Sylvain, then I wish you the best of luck,” Felix finally relented. “But leave me out of it. It’s just more empty words. More promises and oaths invented by powerful old men for the sake of passing along Crests to the richest possible babies.”

“You think Ashe and Dedue got married to produce a Crest-bearing heir?” Ingrid asked sarcastically. 

“No,” Felix replied defensively. “But if you heard the ways I have had to fight off every mother and father in Fodlan with an eligible daughter from our king, then perhaps you might reconsider. Let Ashe and Dedue do as they please. I was bred to fight, not wed.” 

“While I have heard tell that you are a renowned bachelor now, Felix, I had not realized it was for ideological reasons. If it is merely the ceremony that bothers you,” Byleth said cooly, “perhaps we shall see even the heretic eventually converted to the God of Love.” 

“If I ever decide to marry, you might as well cut off my hand,” Felix said, making his final point as he finished wiping his face with a damp cloth. “I’d rather lose it than have it turn from the sword to the lovesick lyre.”

As he stalked out of the room, he heard Ingrid and Byleth laughing behind him. 

Let them laugh, then, he thought. He was the Shield of Faerghus now. As much as the boar annoyed him and, ever since the Mistake, deliberately tried to provoke him, he had a responsibility that was greater than frivolous marriages and dances. 

At the academy, Dimitri had always passively accepted his barbs and insults. It had driven Felix to distraction. Dimitri never even attempted to deny anything as increasingly cruel words just kept spilling from Felix’s mouth. Then during the war, Dimitri had begun to snap back, twisting Felix’s words with surprising skill and distorting all of his points into disturbing extremes. 

Now, they both held themselves back, Felix from letting his insults grow too brutal where he knew Dimitri was still often sensitive and Dimitri from deliberately warping Felix’s words into twisted parodies of themselves. But every now and then, the urge to provoke one another was too strong to resist. 

Felix recalled that even when that had been close as children and things hadn’t been so painfully complicated between them, they had still been known to fight. Felix had usually won by bursting into tears, so that wasn’t really an option anymore. 

Once, Felix had goaded Dimitri into a contest to see who could climb the highest tree and they’d both ended up stuck at the top of a pine, too terrified to get back down until Gustave was sent to rescue them. Once, Dimitri had persuaded Felix to steal and eat an Almyran chili and Felix had begun to wail as soon as it made contact with his mouth, leading him to unfortunately wipe his eyes with his chili smeared hands and only make matters worse. 

Felix shook his head. Nostalgia was like poison to him. 

It was all this talk of marriage, he thought. Ingrid and Sylvain were to blame for putting him in this mood. Once their giddiness died down, then, things could finally get back to normal. 

\---

On the evening of the masquerade ball, Byleth Eisner, who was still getting used to being addressed as 'Archbishop of Fódlan', and occasionally still 'Professor' by many of her former students, selected a gown of dark green. The party was down in the great hall, although all of the windowed doors had been thrown open to let in the cool spring air and allow the dancers to wander out into the gardens when they grew too tired. 

Couples were already swirling around the dance floor and Byleth had to admit that Sylvain had done well arranging such an evening. He had a knack for cheer, while Dimitri remained torn between a desire to please and a penchant for frugality that seemed to have carried over from his five year exile. 

Byleth donned her mask as she entered the hall--scaly and fanged, naturally--a dragon hiding a woman’s face. She spotted Sylvain chatting with Mercedes who had arrived that afternoon from her orphanage on the city outskirts. He wore a red fox mask while she wore one in simple silver decorated with painted blue flowers. 

Byleth had selected Ingrid’s mask for her after the girl had suggested to the artisan that perhaps a horse’s face would be appropriate. It had taken a bit of effort to dissuade her from that idea and instead commission a simple leather mask painted with white feathers. She looked as striking as a spring lily in white and pale green. 

Felix was naturally with Annette beside the refreshments table, wearing a hood and a mask of a wolf that concealed his entire face. Up on the royal daias, Dimitri sat looking bored as a line of courtiers approached him. His lion mask did little to conceal his identity, which was likely due to the security risk such a disguise might pose, as well as his absurd height already making him stand out in a crowd. 

The pair of them were an interesting conundrum. Back at the Officers Academy, Byleth had watched Felix get downright savage with Dimitri and more than once she’d had to reign him back. Then during the war, Felix had been the only person bold enough to outright challenge Dimitri’s violent outbursts and Dimitri had retorted with his not inconsiderable cruelty during that time. But now… well… 

Now, Byleth was fairly certain that they were enjoying their fights. 

Perhaps not enjoying all the little irritations and spats, but she could tell by the way Felix’s shoulders drew back and Dimitri’s eye brightened that the words they exchanged excited the both of them. 

“Professor?” Ingrid whispered, sounding terrified enough that even she forgot to call her archbishop. “What should I do? He’s just standing there. And I’m standing here!” 

“Ingrid, with your permission,” Byleth said firmly, “will you perhaps allow me to take action in your stead, for your cause?” 

“I suppose,” Ingrid said, looking immediately more comfortable with the language of chivalry and courtesy. “Yes. Whatever you think, er, prudent. And if he flirts with you, then call it all off and let me come slap him.” 

Byleth nodded and then weaved her way through the crowd towards Sylvain. 

“Sylvain,” she announced as she approached. 

“Archbishop,” he said with a smirk, “how did you know it was me? Aren’t we supposed to be in disguise tonight?” 

“I think you go about masked often enough,” Byleth said flatly, “may I have a dance?” 

Sylvain chuckled and then glanced around. 

“Well, um, Archbishop, I’m not sure I’m ready to dance quite yet,” he said unexpectedly. His eyes kept scanning the crowd. “Maybe after a few more glasses of wine.” 

“I insist,” Byleth said, “consider it your pious duty.”

“Ah, very well then,” Sylvain said, “Mercedes, could I trouble you to take custody of my cup?” 

Mercedes caught Byleth’s eye with interest and then nodded. 

“Of course,” she said, “my, I will have to tell my parish that dancing is now required by the goddess.” 

Byleth gave her a small grin and then took Sylvian out to the dance floor. The musicians were playing a merry romping tune on the tabor and pipes. 

“So Sylvain,” Byleth began as soon as they had taken their place in the line of dancers, “it is unusual to find you at a party without a lady on your arm.” 

“Ah, well,” Sylvain said, immediately sounding like he would very much like to swallow his own tongue. “You know. I’ve offended almost every girl in Faerghus by this point, so my options are limited.”

“No marriage proposals, then?” Byleth asked bluntly. “Not even for the Crested war hero Margrave?” 

“Oh, you know, a few,” Sylvain said with some trepidation as Byleth led him somewhat rigorously into spin. “But I’d like to think it was just for my pretty face.” 

“Hm, and yet you turned them all down,” Byleth said as they skipped back and forth a few steps, arm in arm. “Perhaps you haven’t lost your love of heartbreak after all.” 

“Hey, I never courted any of the women who have proposed to me,” Sylvain said, his eyes narrowing despite his smile. Byleth smirked to herself. There he was, the vulnerable part of Sylvain who occasionally lashed out like a terrified animal when provoked. 

“What if I told you, then, that there was a suitable young woman here very much hoping to dance with you?” Byleth asked slyly. Sylvain’s face flickered through several expressions.    


“I would have to refuse,” he finally said. Byleth could have embraced him. 

“Really?” Byleth asked, taking him forcefully by the arm as they spun for the final notes of the song. “Because she’s right here waiting.” 

The music stopped just as Byleth guided Sylvain into the startled arms of Ingrid who had been watching anxiously from the sidelines. The pair of them froze up, Ingrid staring up at Sylvain and Sylvian breathing heavily from the dance and far too close for comfort. 

The music began again, this time a slower song on the harp. Couples moved in pairs, swaying in a gentle waltz. Byleth raised her eyebrows pointedly at Sylvain who still looked like he was in shock. 

“Ah, sorry,” he finally stammered. “Please don’t be angry with me, uh, but perhaps, ah, you look so… um… dance?” 

“Are you asking me to dance?” Ingrid said breathlessly. She hadn’t yet taken a step back. 

“Yes?” Sylvain said with a helpless shrug. 

“I accept,” Ingrid said with a hesitant smile.

Byleth looked upon her works with satisfaction. Sylvain and Ingrid were dancing with surprising grace after Sylvain nervously fumbled through the opening steps. As she watched, he hesitantly placed a hand on Ingrid’s waist and she did not seem unhappy with it. 

Sighing with contentment, Byleth turned to enjoy a few moments of peace with a drink of her own, when… 

“You truly will not reveal to me who you are?” 

“No. It’s a masquerade. It would defeat the purpose.” 

“Very well then, sir. Just so long as you are not here to suggest that I marry your daughter, or else Duke Fraldairus will have your head.” 

Byleth sighed as she spotted Dimitri, towering a few inches over the rest and accompanied by a man in a hood and wolf mask as he threaded his way through the crowd.

“Who is Duke Fraldarius?” the masked man asked without much attempt to disguise his voice. Dimitri’s mouth twitched a bit at the corner. 

“My court jester,” Dimitri replied and his masked companion made a sort of choking sound. “He has a marvellous talent for tricks. He can slice fruit in the air with his blade and make tea cakes suddenly vanish without a trace. Mainly I keep him around for his exceptional dancing.” 

“I’m afraid I do not know the man,” a growl issued from beneath the mask. “But I’ll be sure to pass along your  _ compliments _ .” 

“I’m sure he will have much to say about me as well,” Dimitri said with a glint of amusement. “Although he will pout and call me a boar, I have found since we were children that I am one of his favorite topics of conversation.”

Byleth widened her eyes a bit. Dimitri was certainly in a bold mood. 

Before Felix could explode at that, however, the music changed and Dimitri was swept into a dance with Annette, leaving Felix to fume on the sidelines. He ripped the mask from his face, seemed to notice Byleth standing nearby, and then stormed over to her with a livid expression.

“The boar has gone mad again,” he snarled before Byleth could so much as greet him. “See to it.” 

“How so?” Byleth asked dryly. Felix immediately whirled on her. There were spots of red on his cheekbones as he spoke in a rush.

“He just told me, not recognizing who I was, that Felix Fraldarius is the court jester! He’s raving, talking of me cutting fruit and dancing and other nonsense. His mind is twisted and his words pervert my every action,” Felix paused to take a deep breath. “And if some fruit was cut, it was strictly for training purposes! He claims I am obsessed with him, as though I spend my days following him around out of personal pleasure rather than necessity for the kingdom. And he says that I pout! Pout? That mind of his, that  _ wretched _ mind of his!” 

“Aren’t you speaking of him now?” Byleth suggested. “If he is so revolting to you, then perhaps you ought to avoid one another’s company.” 

“And leave him to flounder and destroy his own kingdom?” Felix looked at her with fury. He shook his head and replaced the mask on his face. “I’ve sacrificed too much to let that happen. I’m getting a drink.” 

Byleth watched as he turned on his heel and stomped off towards the refreshment table. 

She sighed heavily and imagined for a moment that she was at home with Seteth, that they had just cast their lines into still waters and could sit for a moment in companionable silence before Flayn summoned them to dinner. 

Then the fantasy passed and Byleth went to get a drink as well. 

The party wore on for a few hours until nearly everyone was footsore and the gardens outside were filling up with whispering couples. Byleth went to rest her feet by the fountain and spotted Ingrid and Sylvain sitting side by side, hesitantly inching their hands towards one another. 

As Byleth stepped aside to give them some privacy, she made eye contact with Dimitri who was sitting on a stone bench nearby, adjusting a boot probably to relieve a blister. He nodded to her and she moved to sit beside him and then glanced towards where Ingrid and Sylvain sat at the fountain. 

“Sylvain seems to have managed not to put his foot in his mouth this time,” Dimitri observed with a faint smile. “I am happy for them.” 

“It was a long time coming,” Byleth agreed. 

“Perhaps we shall have a wedding to enjoy this spring after all,” Dimitri sighed with contentment. 

“Not your own yet?” Byleth asked. Dimitri shook his head and looked down at his hands, letting his blonde hair fall over his face. 

“I know it is expected of me, but…” his shoulders tensed, “I would rather not.” 

Byleth bit her bottom lip. Dimitri had always been one of her more difficult students. His feelings were so strong and overwhelming and yet he kept them so tamped down and hidden it was often difficult to know how to help him. She tread carefully. 

“I hope you understand,” Byleth finally said, choosing each word deliberately, “that no one would fault you for being… happy.” 

Dimitri huffed a slightly bitter laugh. 

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his head and shooting her a rye smile. “No, I swear to you, that is not my objection to marriage. I simply can find no one… suitable. I would prefer to earn love than to take it with royal prerogative.” 

Byleth nodded a few times, beginning to understand something. 

“I believe you have somewhat lost the affections of Felix tonight,” she said, “he has been quite affected by your court jester remark.” 

Dimitri’s expression immediately hardened. 

“I believe I lost the affections of Felix long ago,” he said. 

Byleth let the silence sit. It had always been one of her talents. 

Laughter echoed from behind them. Sylvain had made some joke and Ingrid was laughing with her head thrown back while Sylvain grinned like he’d just been struck a blow to the head. Crickets were chirping in the bushes around them and distantly, the sound of the drum and the viol still floated through the night air. 

“There was…” Dimitri began and then seemed to pause to catch his breath. “Ah, there was for a short time some affection between Felix and I. After the war, I mean. Not just as children. I thought his intention was to… well, but I was wrong. It was merely the aftershock of the war. Not an arrangement meant to last.”

Byleth shot him a sharp glance. Dimitri’s eye was fixed firmly down on his hands, which were twisted in his lap. There was a bit of a dark shadow under that eye, Byleth noted with concern. She trusted Dimitri to take care of himself now, but it did not mean she did not sometimes wake in the night with a pang of anxiety that he was not happy. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. 

“Ah, it is all past now,” Dimitri said, shaking off his momentary sadness and fixing a smile back onto his face. “You must pardon me, I know it is a party, but I believe I was born beneath a melancholy star.” 

“Your birth shall always be a happy hour to me,” Byleth said, placing one of her rough hands over his glove and squeezing quickly. “Come, I believe Sylvain and Ingrid are about to get engaged and might appreciate an audience.”

Dimitri stood and they approached a crowd of people beginning to gather around where Sylvain was apparently attempting to make some sort of speech.

When the party broke up at last, Sylvain and Ingrid had indeed made pledges and left arm in arm. Dimitri retired early and Felix had vanished after the court jester incident, so Byleth found only Annette, Mercedes, Dedue, and Ashe still saying their goodnights at the gates. 

“You’ll remain here for the rest of the month?” Annette asked Byleth anxiously. “I’ve taken as much time as I can away from my students while we have you in town.” 

“I will remain,” Byleth nodded. “There are still matters I must arrange to ensure that Fódlan is peaceful.” 

“Anything we can do, professor,” Mercedes offered and Dedue and Ashe both nodded heartily. Byleth’s lips twitched into a tiny grin. 

“I hear there is strife concerning the king’s marriage,” Byleth said. Dedue shook his head at once. 

“His Majesty prefers not to hear more of this,” he said. 

“And Felix will grind his teeth to dust if you so much as mention it,” Ashe added cheerfully. 

“Therefore, I propose to undertake a task more difficult than any wartime stratagem and more miraculous than any deed of the saints,” Byleth announced, “but I shall need your help, my lions.” 

Annette looked a bit pale and nervous but she nodded. 

“Well, we have already offered,” Mercedes laughed, “I suppose we cannot retract it now for fear of difficulty.” 

“I propose,” Byleth said, “to weave together the fates of Felix and Dimitri. Felix is an honorable and courageous man despite his sharp temper and Dimitri a most deserving and compassionate king. But for a certain antipathy between them, I am sure that task can be accomplished.” 

All of her students went silent for a moment. 

Then they burst into wild laughter. 

Byleth felt something warm and familiar burn inside of her. She felt a sense of satisfaction. 

“Laugh if you will,” she said, “but I am your archbishop. If the goddess wills it, it shall be so.” 

\---

It was nearly a week into the archbishop’s visit when Felix found himself escaping from the oppressive air of the palace and out into the gardens to clear his head. The business of advising was unsuitable for his temperament, he often thought. He ought to be out fighting, not sitting in the council chambers and hearing report after report from the constables about a plot in Rusalka to break several ex-imperial scientists out of prison. 

Not helping matters was the fact that Sylvain, usually an alarmingly intelligent voice of reason in Dimitri’s government, had decided to become an absolute and utter fool the moment Ingrid had allowed him to put a ring on her finger. 

Felix slouched down into the shade of a trellis and thumbed through a new volume on Albinean verbs he had been meaning to learn. His mind, however, was unwilling to focus.

It was incredible, he thought, that Sylvain of all people ought to be getting married. The man had built a reputation as a cynic, a heartbreaker so callously insensitive to the feeling of love that he would pledge eternal devotion to scarecrows and grandmothers. 

If anyone had understood the ugly truth of marriage and romance, Felix had been certain it would be Sylvain. His father had treated him like a prized breeding stallion. They’d fought side by side in a continent spanning war where even the deepest bonds of their classmates had been cast aside and into the raging fire when it had become necessary. He ought to know better. 

And yet here he was, suddenly writing fumbling little poems and picking flowers to hide in Ingrid’s saddlebag when she went out to scout. Sylvain had been obnoxious before, but at least he had been honest. Now he papered over his harsh words with the elegant language of romance and chivalry. It was disgusting. 

Felix turned a page in his book roughly without having read a word. A bird was twittering somewhere behind him. He wished it would be quiet so that he could concentrate.

If Sylvain and Ingrid got married, he’d have to put up with courtiers mockingly asking if he would be next. Felix snorted at the thought. The day he married… he would prefer the goddess turned him into an oyster instead. 

Back at the Officers Academy, Sylvain had teased him that perhaps he wished to marry the professor for her beauty and skill. Ingrid had joked that perhaps he was in love with Annette for her charming quick wits. Ashe had once asked if he admired Mercedes for her kindness. 

Well, until he found beauty, skill, wit, and kindness all bound into one person, his heart did not flutter. He remained strong and unmoved. 

“Let’s sit a moment in the sunshine,” a voice loudly announced beside him. “I’ve been learning that old Duscur tune you taught me on the lute and I’d like to try it out before dinner.”

Felix jumped so violently that he startled several birds out of the hedge nearby. He peeked through the trellis, luckily so overgrown with vines that he was hidden, and spotted a pair sitting out at the veranda right behind. 

Ashe and Dedue, Felix thought with disdain. The most sickening pair of doting lovers in Fhirdiad.

Faint lute music began to float over the garden as Ashe began to pick at the strings. It sounded like a jangling buzzing insect. Ashe would do better to occupy his fingers fletching arrows than plucking tunes.

Slowly, Felix moved to a crouch and prepared to sneak away before he had to endure their company. 

“That is a beautiful melody, Ashe,” Dedue said warmly, “your playing grows finer each day.” 

“Ah, thank you!” Ashe said happily. “But we must return to what you were telling me before. Can it really be true that Dimitri is in love with Felix?” 

Felix choked. 

How had he choked? On the air itself? On his own saliva? His lungs began to burn as he suppressed the urge to cough loudly into his arm. 

“It is true,” Dedue said grimly, “although he feigns all appearance of indifference and even a sort of teasing resentment, he has confided to me many times that he loves Felix with great passion.”

Felix felt his eyes begin to water. He gasped as the near silent coughing fit passed and then clapped a hand to his mouth to keep silent. 

“How can this be?” Ashe said. He was speaking very loudly for some reason. “Perhaps he was only joking. Or he meant simply that Felix is like a beloved brother in arms?” 

“No, it is surely a lover’s passion,” Dedue said flatly. “I have often seen him nearly moved to tears with the strength of his love. He pines, falls to his knees, cries out to the goddess even.” 

Felix gaped open-mouthed at that. Dimitri would pray tearfully to the goddess for love of him?

He felt an unpleasant clenching sensation in his chest. Pity, he thought, that was all. The boar was pathetic. 

“Has he not told Felix, then?” Ashe asked.

“How could he? He has sworn to never do so,” Dedue sighed. “His Majesty has a tender heart and Felix has always been so unrelentingly hard on him. How could he speak such vulnerable words when Felix will surely crush them beneath his boot?” 

An indignant grunt escaped Felix’s mouth despite his best efforts. Crush words beneath a boot? The metaphor was bad. 

And what was worse, they thought him so cruel that he would mock and deride an earnest confession of love? Particularly from _ Dimitri _ , who was so damned sensitive and who Felix had to be so careful of now?

“I am very sorry to hear this!” Ashe exclaimed. “Dimitri has suffered so much hardship. To think that he must now hide his affections or face such callous scorn!” 

That was just unfair, Felix thought. He was not a monster. Surely, Ashe knew that he would never be intentionally cruel to Dimitri. 

His mind was reeling. He wondered if he might be dreaming. Or perhaps he had been poisoned and passed out in the garden. Honestly, that might be preferable. 

“Felix is a good man, I believe,” Dedue said. Felix frowned. He had not expected Dedue to be his defender. “But he is very proud. It is difficult for him for him to be gentle and I fear Dimitri is in need of some delicacy concerning his feelings.” 

“Perhaps we could tell Felix,” Ashe suggested, “and then he might not lash out so harshly to Dimitri.” 

“I’m afraid not,” Dedue said, “I should lose His Majesty’s sacred trust for that. He is adamant that Felix never be told. He says his heart should break if he was rejected.” 

“Very well,” Ashe said and then suddenly stood up and looked at the sky. “It’s nearly four, shall we go in? I have heard we may need to have a hand in the menu for dinner tonight.” 

Dedue rose and the pair entered back into the palace with a slight squeak of the doors. Felix was left alone in the garden once more. 

He sank to the ground and leaned back against the trellis. He felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut. 

It couldn’t be a trick, his spinning mind began to rationalize. It came from Dedue’s lips, Dedue who knew Dimitri better than anyone, and who was not by nature a prankster. And if it was not a trick then… well, then it must be true. 

Dimitri was in love with him. 

His face felt very hot and he could feel his heart pounding, no, fluttering in his chest. 

Dimitri loved him? Him? Dimitri loved Felix who was bad-tempered and over serious and generally dour when he ought to be pleasant? Dimitri loved Felix who preferred hacking with a sword until the sweat ran down his chin over the pleasures of court? Dimitri loved Felix who had spent years deriding him and picking at him and insulting him to his face? 

Why? Why in heaven or earth would Dimitri love him? 

He and Dimitri were somewhat reconciled, but Dimitri had never shown any sign of love. On the contrary, he often mocked him, bringing up embarrassing childhood stories and embarrassing slightly more recent stories, as though something about Felix just bothered him. Was that love? Were all of those teasing words they traded love? 

Attraction was another matter. They were both only human after all and the Mistake directly after the war had been pretty clear proof that there was at least some mutual physical admiration between them. 

It had been a mistake, though. That is what Felix had told himself again and again. It had been the war and all the strange tangled emotions that had come with it. Felix was no match for a king and certainly no match for Dimitri who needed someone gentle and delicate and kind to him and oh goddess above, he was in love with Dimitri. 

Felix stood up and began to walk quickly back towards the palace before realizing he had forgotten his book and then scrambling back to find it tossed among the roots of the hedge. 

So he was in love with Dimitri. No need to panic. After all, it was requited. 

And yes there might be some… small-minded detractors. Particularly some of his friends who might make sport of those years when he had sworn to die a bachelor. 

Well, he had only sworn so because he had not expected to live through the war. People changed. He was not beholden to every absurd thing he had sworn as a stupid child. 

And Dimitri was beautiful and skilled and witty and kind. And a king. So if any nasty stain upon the court wanted to make trouble with the idea, then good riddance. Let them build a better kingdom without such nonsense. 

Against his will, he felt a smile breaking across his face. Energy burst inside of him and he stepped lightly out of the trellis and into the sun. It was a gorgeous afternoon. The sun was bright and birds were singing sweetly and the garden was all in bloom. 

“Felix?” 

Felix spun around and felt the book fly from his fingers again. It was Dimitri, standing on the steps. He wore dark blue that brought out the color of his eye and the rosy warmth of his cheeks. And the way the cut of the tunic revealed his narrow waist, the muscular tops of his thighs…

“Felix, are you quite alright?” Dimitri said again. Felix scrambled to pick up the book yet again. 

“Quite alright,” he repeated breathlessly. “What is it?” 

“I have come, against my will and as per your own, to discuss the reports from the city guard,” Dimitri said with a hint of coldness. 

“Oh, thank you,” Felix said and then choked again on his own breath. He coughed once and then wiped his mouth. “Thank you very much for your trouble.” 

“It was no trouble,” Dimitri said, frowning oddly at him. There, Felix thought. That was a lover’s longing gaze if he had ever seen one. “You were the one who wanted a report from the guards, anyways.” 

“So I did,” Felix agreed. He could feel his face heating up like a blister. 

“Well, I can meet you in my office shortly,” Dimitri finally said after a pause, “you seem a bit overheated.” 

He turned to the doors of the palace. Felix drew the book tightly to his chest. 

Against my will and as per your own? There had to be a double meaning there. And coming to fetch him to go over reports was a pretty little excuse, Felix thought smugly. 

Well, he would prove everyone wrong. He was not so proud and unpitying as they thought him. 

He was the king’s advisor and the Shield of Faerghus. 

Perhaps, he thought, he ought to try his hand at a rhyme or two. 

\---

There was clearly something wrong with Felix, Dimitri thought as he finally replaced his pen for the day and leaned back in his chair. Throughout their meeting he had been twitchy and his face kept spasming into a terrible expression where he would bare his teeth in Dimitri’s direction. At one point, Dimitri had stood to fetch another bottle of ink and Felix had nearly upended his chair rushing to get it for him. 

Perhaps he was ill, Dimitri thought. This behavior reminded Dimitri somewhat of the time when as a child Felix had eaten a bad egg the morning before Glenn’s knighting ceremony and spent the entire hour pale and rigid in his seat before dashing off to the privy the minute the blade hit his brother’s shoulder. 

It was nearly the dinner hour, Dimitri noted, but his head was foggy and sore from the hours of paperwork. Surely no one would fault him for taking a private cup of tea in the parlor before the meal was served. 

He brewed a pot of chamomile along with some root Dedue had brought back from Duscur to help with the headaches and then brought it into the comfortable sitting room between his own chambers and the guest wing. A servant had opened the window and the spring breeze blew his hair around as he tried to get comfortable on a low sofa too small for his long legs. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the warmth of the liquid in his mouth and the faint sounds of the city below and… 

“Oh Mercie, are you headed down to dinner in a moment?” 

Dimitri sloshed a bit of scalding tea onto his hand. The voice had come from the hall right outside of his door, clearly the chipper tone of Annette. 

Had her voice always carried so loudly? Perhaps that was just the headache. 

“I’m about to if you don’t mind waiting for me,” Merecedes replied. “Should we invite Dimitri to join us?” 

“Oh, he’s just finished a meeting with Felix, he’ll be in a terrible temper,” Annette said. “Those two always put one another on edge and Dimitri is much too severe with him to make amends.” 

Dimitri felt a jolt of indignance. Severe? Felix was the severe one. Dimitri merely made the occasional joke. At Felix’s expense. 

“Oh poor Felix,” Mercedes sighed. Dimitri snorted. Poor Felix? “It would be so much easier if he weren’t so desperately in love with Dimitri.”

Tea splattered across the sofa as the delicate china cup shattered in Dimitri’s hand. 

He stared down at his fingers in horror, the ringing of his Crest still humming through his veins. There were shattered bits of cup all over him. He felt like a bell at the top of a cathedral tower directly after it had been struck. 

He rolled off of the sofa and crawled towards the door, desperate to hear more. 

“He told me himself,” Annette confirmed. “Felix is such an oaf about his feelings sometimes, but he confides everything to me. I’ve tried to tell him to forget it and leave such thoughts behind, but he’s stubborn.” 

“Why shouldn’t he love Dimitri?” Mercedes asked. “Felix is a very worthy man and they have been through so much together. Why, I suppose Dimitri scarcely knows how much Felix always worries over him!” 

Dimitri felt his breath catch. His hands were trembling and he was soaked with tea, lying on the carpet with his ear pressed against the door. He was blind in one eye and quickly beginning to wonder if he might be going deaf as well, because his ears were clearly not reporting accurately. 

“I have done all I can to dissuade Felix from placing his hopes with Dimitri,” Annette said with a very loud sigh. “Felix is utterly besotted, but I think Dimitri might still resent him for all those days back at Garreg Mach.” 

“Surely not!” Mercedes gasped. “Perhaps it is simply that Dimitri wishes to marry someone of a higher station who might give him an heir. He worries so much about what the people think of him. He is a king, after all, he must consider his legacy.” 

Dimitri felt a spike of fury surge into him at that. His hands balled into fists again although this time he took care not to rip holes in the walls or carpet. His legacy? How could Mercedes think him so vain and selfish? 

“I doubt it,” Annette said. “Dimitri is cold to Felix no matter the topic. Maybe the rifts between them are just too great to heal.” 

“May it never be so between us, Annie,” Mercedes giggled. “Come now, help me with my dress before we go down to dinner.” 

As their footsteps faded away down the hall, Dimitri sunk another few inches on the floor and lay on the carpet. He draped an elbow over his eyes, feeling briefly disconsolate and then suddenly wild with joy. 

What was… happening? What was happening? What? Was? Happening? 

How could what they had said be real? He had been known to imagine voices before. Could it have all been a desperate fantasy of his mind? 

But another part of them hoped and wished with a frightful intensity that it was real. That Felix really did love him. That Felix had forgiven him for his many sins and found a way to come to terms with the stormy nature of his heart. That all of Felix’s distance and irritation was simply a cover. 

Dimitri lowered his arm and stared up in the ceiling in a daze. A warm feeling was expanding in his chest and for a few seconds he kicked his legs up and down in childlike glee. 

Because he did love Felix. He loved Felix so much it scared him at times. Before, loving Felix had been a terrifying prospect. Dimitri thought he had probably loved him as long as he knew what such a feeling was. And to think that his feelings were returned? It was dizzying. 

Felix, wonderful Felix, dashing and headstrong and thrilling Felix, loved him despite everything he had done. And all Dimitri had to do was tell him. 

Tell him and explain that there had never been any spite behind the teasing and the jokes; it had always been for the simple pleasure of seeing the way Felix’s eyes lit up at a challenge. And that all of those things that made Felix blush and scowl so beautifully, Dimitri loved them. Dimitri had loved Felix as a child for his tears and his tenderness. Dimitri loved Felix today for his odd little hobbies and his secret passions. 

On the floor of his sitting room, Dimitri began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. He felt wild and out of control, but in the best possible way, entirely unlike the reckless rage he’d felt during the war. 

“Your Majesty?” a soft voice asked from behind the door. A servant. Oh goddess above. 

“Yes?” Dimitri stammered, clambering to his feet and trying to brush any remaining shards of cup from his clothes. The room was a mess and he was a mess and he needed to change before dinner. 

“They are waiting to serve dinner for you,” the steward’s nervous voice came through the door. “I apologize for the bother, but--” 

“I’ll be down in a moment!” Dimitri yelped, trying to pick up the bits of cup without cutting his fingers. “Tell them not to wait, please!” 

When he did arrive at dinner, it was with only one glove and with a missed button on his shirt. Felix said nothing, although they were across from one another. But Dimitri felt his eyes watching him throughout the meal. 

A gift, Dimitri thought as he noticed his spoon bending menacingly under his unsteady grip, he needed to find Felix a gift. 


	2. Act 2

The preparations for the wedding of Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier to Lady Ingrid Brandl Galatea occupied much of the next weeks. Faerghan custom did not favor long engagements and after the franky ridiculous amount of time she and Sylvain had known each other, no one seemed worried about the rush. 

Ingrid was certainly not worried. Not worried at all. 

It was just a bit strange to have a friendship she’d maintained since childhood so suddenly transformed. There was nothing unpleasant about it, but it still startled her sometimes when Sylvain put a hand on her waist or smiled at her without a hint of mischief in his eyes. A few times, she almost raised a hand to swat at him on instinct.

But it was also very nice. Nice in a way she hadn’t let herself think about in a long time. Her father was, predictably, elated about the marriage, which was good. She wanted to make him happy, to do her duty to her house, and to bring prosperity to her people. And she was not marrying against her will to some rich merchant. So that was good. 

There was just… something. Something that every now and then put a jolt of fear through her when Sylvain bent down to kiss her, so softly and slowly that it was difficult to believe he’d once been known as a bit of a rake. 

Part of the problem was that while she was fairly certain that she loved Sylvain and that he loved her in return, there was so much more at stake between them than ever before. 

Friendship had been uncomplicated. If he annoyed her, she could shout at him. If he made her laugh till she cried, she could spend the whole day at his side. 

But if they were married, then things might change. As much as she hated to admit it, Felix had been partially right about the institution. Why bother to make their love into a legal contract? What did she stand to lose by binding her fortunes and future not just to Sylvain, but to all of House Gautier? 

And when it came to Felix, Ingrid was slightly worried. 

She hadn’t thought he would harbor any particular resentment towards her for her engagement beyond his usual derisive comments, but for the past few weeks his behavior had been nothing short of bizarre. 

Ingrid wondered at first if it might be because of Glenn, if her finally making another engagement had brought back unpleasant memories. 

But he didn’t appear to be angry. Just… off. 

Ingrid caught him at the training grounds one morning practicing some sort of flourishing maneuver that couldn’t have much practical value in combat. When she’d opened the door, he’d whirled around and tossed his blade behind his back, catching it deftly with his other hand before he looked up, realized it was her, and promptly staggered back into a rack of practice swords. 

Then of course there was the incident with lute. Ashe had been attempting to teach himself to play for some months, but one morning, he wandered into the breakfast room asking if anyone had seen the instrument which had apparently gone missing from his quarters.

In the end, the lute had reappeared in Ashe’s room by nightfall, but Ingrid had distinctly heard the sounds of Felix humming quietly as he reviewed one of her scouting letters. His face was set into an expression of rage as he growled out a tuneless little melody under his breath. 

Before she had left his chambers, he had abruptly looked up and called her back. 

“What’s a rhyme for ‘king’?” he had demanded, as though she was withholding some great secret from him. 

“Sing?” Ingrid had suggested. 

Felix had wrinkled his nose and shaken his head. 

“No,” he had said shortly, “and it cannot be ‘thing’, either. And all I can find for ‘lance’ is ‘pants’ and that is… difficult.” 

“What is this for?” Ingrid had asked. 

Felix had grunted a non-answer and gone back to pacing around his chambers. 

Finally, there was the scene he had with Dimitri when Byleth proposed spending the afternoon hunting in the parks around the palace. 

It had started well enough as a fine morning where the hounds had quickly scented a dear. Sylvain had always been somewhat adorably squeamish about the hunt and so she’d packed a few provisions into their saddlebag if they needed to split off for a picnic when the deer was caught. 

Given that Dimitri and Felix were to be in conversation for several hours, Ingrid was expecting a squabble. The two of them would pick at each other, as they always did, until someone managed to change the subject, and then they would both fold their arms and speak in huffy monosyllables to each other for the rest of the day.

However, as they were mounting the horses, Felix’s gelding was antsy and footsore and when one of the hounds began to bark, the horse spooked and reared back. While not as experienced in horsemanship as the rest of them, Felix knew how to slide off of the saddle and take a fall rolling on his shoulder. 

But before he hit the ground, Dimitri had snatched him out of the air like he weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. 

For a moment, the hunting party fell silent. Felix was clasped in Dimitri’s arms, his legs in the air and his face pressed against the royal chest. 

Ingrid distantly heard the sounds of the hostlers getting the gelding back in the hand, but she could not break her gaze away from what was happening. By the faces of her fellow courtiers, most of them looked pretty certain that they were about to witness Duke Fraldarius assassinate the king in broad daylight. 

Then, as though suddenly realizing what he had done, Dimitri set Felix down and stepped back a few paces like a man dropping a dangerous serpent. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“No!” Felix said, sounding strangely breathless. “No, not your fault.” 

“I’m sure you could have landed that,” Dimitri apologized again, turning his face down to suddenly give the toes of his boots a thorough examination. 

“I could have, yes,” Felix nodded stiffly. “But, uh, good catch. Your reflexes are… like a… a…”

He stared desperately around the assembled circle of courtiers, as though hoping one of them would supply him with a thing known for fast reflexes. 

“A cat,” Felix finally finished lamely. 

Dimitri did not take the bait there and instead flushed a pinkish color all over his face. 

“Oh, well,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I have been training more with the sword lately, I suppose.” 

Felix nodded, brushing imaginary dirt from his jacket a few times. 

“You sword,” Felix said, the words falling from his lips like he had no idea what they meant, “good.” 

And with that he turned away and half-ran back to his own horse while Dimitri cast one look around at the rest of the hunting party and they immediately busied themselves with their own mounts. Ingrid shot Sylvain a glance. He looked at her with an expression of awe. 

“That was horrific,” he said and then his face broke into a grin. Ingrid cracked up behind her hand. 

“I don’t know,” Ingrid whispered back, “Dimitri does sword good sometimes.” 

Sylvain snorted. 

“Is everything alright, Margrave?” Dimitri’s suddenly very cold voice called out. 

“Perfectly fine, Your Majesty,” Ingrid replied for him, “it’s just the pollen.” 

Come to think of it, Ingrid began to realize, Dimitri was acting rather strangely as well. 

She hadn’t heard him tease Felix with some childhood misadventure in days, even though he’d had the perfect opportunity to bring up the time that the four of them had tried sledding on shields down a hill one winter and Felix had immediately flipped into a tree and knocked a tooth out.

Then of course, there was the time that Dimitri had pulled her aside during an important meeting about winter grain stores and she had been certain he meant to discuss Galatea’s disappointing yield, but instead he had asked in a whisper what might make a good gift for a dear companion. 

“I mean, what does this person like?” Ingrid had whispered back. A representative from Daphnel was still speaking. 

“Um, well, weapons,” Dimitri had replied, “and, um, knives. And swords.” 

“Perhaps then an ornamental dagger,” Ingrid had suggested, deeply confused as to why she was being asked to consult on this matter. Dimitri’s eye had immediately widened and he shook his head violently. 

“No daggers,” he had firmly hissed back at her and then more softly, nearly inaudibly, “I’d never live it down this time.” 

The meeting had continued uninterrupted after that, but a few days later, Ingrid had overheard him and Felix after a long summit on Enbarr’s port tariffs. 

“One of the merchants brought some samples of his wares, actually,” Dimitri was saying as Felix hovered in the hall. “I was wondering if you had any interest.”

“I have no need of finery and trinkets from the south,” Felix replied sharply. 

“Of course,” Dimitri stuttered, “but he brought several exotic foods I should hate to let spoil and I recall how you enjoy such things so… Felix, if you would allow me to… I should love to give you some meat.” 

There was a sudden silence. Ingrid paused her footsteps, waiting to hear what would happen. 

“Oh Goddess,” Dimitri finally said quietly, “that sounded rather lewd. What I mean is that the merchant has several dried varieties of--” 

“Yes,” Felix interrupted loudly. “That’s fine. I’ll accept. Just stop talking!” 

Come to think of it, Ingrid realized, those two incidents might have been related. 

So it was both Felix and Dimitri, then, who were acting strangely. She brought it up to Sylvain but he was just as baffled as she was. 

“It’s like both of them have been replaced by imposters who don’t know how to talk to humans,” Ingrid had remarked one afternoon at tea with the archbishop. 

“Agarthan clones?” Sylvain had suggested before Ingrid had rolled her eyes at him. 

Byleth had merely smiled into her cup. 

\---

House Gautier kept apartments in Fhirdiad. His father had used the building often when court was in session, and now that the old Margrave was dead, it fell to Sylvain. Like everything else, when his father had died, it all fell to Sylvain. 

While Dimitri urged him again and again that he was welcome to be housed in the palace while he visited, Sylvain preferred to stay in the small household in the city’s upper district. He didn’t want to wear out his welcome with the king, and the capital was infinitely better than the lonely hall up in Gautier territory. So long as the Sreng border didn’t erupt into chaos again, he could manage nearly half of the year in Fhirdiad. 

But that would change soon, Sylvain thought, unable to resist smiling to himself as he gave his hair a quick ruffle and headed down to dinner. This year, Ingrid would be with him when he had to return to the old Gautier hall. 

Ingrid would be there to scold him and laugh with him and help him fix up the broken-down wing and go riding out on the lonely moors. Ingrid would be there beside him at night when he slept restlessly, dreaming of a high tower only a few hours away. Ingrid would be there to turn his head with her beauty when his eyes wandered to the old well at the edge of the woods. 

He was dining that night with the archbishop and a few of her retinue, a simple affair unlike the great banquets at the palace. Sylvain enjoyed playing the part of host and so he’d had the kitchen prepare something festive (and foreign, as he still found Faerghan cuisine dull). Wine would flow, conversation would be merry, and Sylvain could bask in their happiness and share a tiny part of it for a few hours. 

He wished Ingrid could have been there, though. She’d flown back to Galatea that morning to gather some possessions and organize what needed to be sent from her father’s estate to the city in time for the wedding. While he trusted her to fly as safe and sure as always, he missed her. He’d always missed her when they were apart. 

When Byleth arrived, she had traded her formal robes for a short tunic and grey coat, something closer so the mercenary turned professor he’d known in the war. But before he could open his mouth to greet her, she held up a letter. 

“Someone handed this to me at your gate,” she said, her brows slightly drawn as she passed Sylvian the note. “Are you in the habit of receiving messages in the night like this?” 

“Not anymore,” Sylvain said with an uncomfortable laugh. 

This was the trouble, Sylvain thought, with the engagement. He’d spent so long intentionally ruining his reputation, he now had to reap the consequences. 

People knew Ingrid as a hero, a woman of honor and dignity, while to the rest of Faerghus, he was known to be a cad.

They thought he would hurt her, he knew. Even his dearest friends thought so. 

Felix glared at him with outright suspicion and Dimitri with uncertainty. Mercedes would never speak so poorly of him, but he knew she wondered. All of the court was wondering. 

Why had she said yes? Why had she said yes to Sylvain Gautier, the skirt chaser, the womanizer, the heartbreaker? How could he deserve such a woman as Ingrid and how could she be so foolish as to have accepted his proposal? 

You always get everything you want, a dark memory of Miklan’s voice muttered in the back of his mind, and what have you done to deserve it? 

“Sylvain?” Byleth asked, jolting him out of his pensive thoughts. “Are you going to open it?” 

Without answering, Sylvain ripped the envelope open, perhaps a bit more roughly than he had to. 

If Byleth wanted proof, then fine. He would prove it to her. He would lay his whole life open if it meant that one single person would trust him not to ruin this.

His eyes scanned the page, written in a thin elegant script he was unfamiliar with. 

‘Sir, you are betrayed. Visit the wall below your lady’s quarters tonight and witness. Your friends lament to see you so shamed.’ 

Sylvain read the words a few times, not entirely comprehending them. Finally he silently handed the paper to Byleth who’s usually non-reactive face shifted to a rare expression of confusion. 

“Shall we alert the city watch?” Sylvain asked. He could feel his hands beginning to tremble. “If Ingrid is in danger--” 

“We have no idea what the situation is,” Byleth said, her eyes scanning across the page. “She’s not in the city currently, right? This could be a joke or a poorly executed trap.” 

“I’m going.” 

“I’ll accompany you. We’ll move faster if we go together now,” Byleth drew her coat aside to reveal a sword. Always prepared for a fight, he thought. 

“The lance,” Sylvain paused, thinking of the relic he kept locked away in a trunk in his chambers. He hated to look at it now that the war was over. He hated the sounds it made even locked in the trunk, occasionally clicking or stirring like some enormous insect. “Ah, no, it attracts too much attention.” 

Byleth motioned for a few of her guards to follow and drew the hood of her grey coat over her head. Sylvain flexed his fingers, rehearsing the incantations to conjure fire should he need it. 

House Galatea had little money to spare and as such they kept no quarters in the city. As a knight of House Blaiddyd, Ingrid spent most of her days sleeping in the officer barracks beside the palace, but on account of the wedding, she’d been staying in rooms above the inn that Ashe and Dedue owned nearer to the waterfront. 

It had rained earlier in the evening and the streets were slick. Torchlight reflected off of wet stone as he and Byleth stole through the markets and down to the waterfront. Despite the rain, many doors were thrown open for the unusually temperate spring weather and Sylvain heard the sounds of other parties at dinner, music coming from the tavern, laughter echoing from the gardens. 

Byleth glanced at him as he walked faster, pushing his legs to the verge of a jog. He did not turn his head to see her concern. Sylvain did not like being the cause for anyone’s concern. 

When they neared the inn, he felt his stomach unclench just slightly. It was still standing, the lights still lit inside, and he could hear the sounds of conversation from the restaurant on the first floor. 

“If this is an ambush,” Byleth said, one hand still resting on the pommel of her blade, “your friend has chosen a bad spot for it. The streets are crowded.” 

“I’m going to go knock on her door,” Sylvain said. “If she’s returned early, then--”

But before he could finish speaking, Byleth abruptly dragged him back and into the vegetable garden in the tiny lot beside the inn. Sylvain opened his mouth to protest before Byleth silently pointed up to the window. 

One of the second floor windows was open. Even in the dim light, Sylvain could make out the shape of Ingrid coming to lean at the sill. Her shortly cropped golden hair gleamed in the torchlight as she rested her elbows against the ledge and smiled. 

Sylvain could have cried with relief. She must have arrived back early, had a good meal at the inn, and decided to wait until the morning to send word. 

Then as he watched, a dark shadow appeared behind her. A cry of warning began in his throat as the figure drew close behind, as hands wrapped around her… 

And she turned, looking up with a smile of affection. 

He was tall and broad shouldered. He wore a handsome chestnut-colored beard that rubbed against her chin when they kissed. His clothing was somewhat redolent of a merchant sailor and as he wrapped Ingrid into his embrace, Sylvain spotted a few lines of a tattoo on his forearm. 

It was over in a moment that felt like years. The man drew back and Ingrid ran a fond hand through his hair and then he pulled her by the hand back into the room, perhaps towards her bed. 

Sylvain stood in the vegetable garden with dirt on his boots and one partially destroyed squash under his foot. 

“Sylvain...” Byleth began, her voice so tender and sad that it made him sick. “We don’t know what it meant. Perhaps there is an explanation…” 

“There is,” Sylvain said harshly. 

Of course there was an explanation. Ingrid loved that man. And Ingrid needed money. Both could be true. Ingrid needed money for her family and a respectable line to help pass on the Crest of Daphnel. Ingrid always had put duty above the feelings of her heart. 

Perhaps this had been a final indulgence before her wedding. Or perhaps she meant to continue, slipping away from him on errands of duty to meet her sailor in ports across Fódlan. Perhaps that would be enough happiness for her to get by with. 

Perhaps she would whisper to that man about her foolish husband who never suspected, her foolish husband who she needed for his money and his Crest, but who could never be much more to her. 

Sylvain did not realize he was crying until Byleth gently guided his head down to her shoulder. He felt her hand rub small circles into his back as he crumpled against her. 

“In the morning,” she finally whispered, “I’ll arrange for a meeting. But sleep on it first.” 

Sylvain nodded. 

But he spent the night lying awake in his bed, red eyes fixed on the wall, listening to the lance clicking quietly in its trunk. 

\---

Ingrid arrived back from Galatea that morning in good spirits. Dimitri was in the Great Hall of the palace, hearing suits, when she slipped in. 

The hearing of petitions was the part of governing that Dimitri liked best. When his people brought him complaints and requests for help, he actually felt like he was improving something. Felix, honestly, was the one who was better behind the scenes, working out deals with his iron will and making difficult choices in minutes that had Dimitri agonizing for days. 

The only issue, Dimitri thought as he listened politely to a request for royal funds to build a new road through the Oghma mountains, was the throne. He would have preferred a regular chair, but Felix had fought him on that as fiercely as he’d fought him on everything else, insisting that the symbol of power would keep the chafing noblemen in line when they came to complain about taxes. 

As the matter was resolving, Dimitri heard the door open quietly again and he spotted Felix slip through and stand beside Ingrid. She cast him a companionable look and he gave her a curt nod of friendship. Dimitri resisted the urge to smile at the sight. 

Felix looked to be returning from his morning training and his hair was still damp with perspiration. It had grown so much longer since the choppy mess he’d trimmed in chunks with his knife during the war. How had Dimitri never bothered to notice before how soft Felix’s hair looked? 

“Your Majesty?”

Dimitri started back to himself and shook his head. A clerk was holding out a document for him to sign and formally pledge the funds. Dimitri quickly signed and then called for a short recess so that he might greet Ingrid and hopefully remember how to be a functional human person. 

As the clerks began to disperse, Dimitri stood, stretched, and then hurried over to Ingrid. She pulled him into a quick one-armed hug. 

“Was all well with your father in Galatea?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Ingrid said with a grin, “he’ll be arriving in the city in a few days time. He was so happy, Dimitri, you should have seen his smile.” 

“Hmm,” Felix said where he was hovering nearby. Dimitri realized he was clearly resisting the urge to make some over-harsh comment. 

“Restraint from Duke Fraldarius,” Dimitri could not help but note aloud, “this is truly an honor.” 

Felix wrinkled his nose and then shrugged wordlessly. But as their eyes met, Dimitri noticed the faintest smile at the corner of Felix’s mouth. Hesitantly, Dimitri returned it. 

They were interrupted by the sound of the doors to the great hall slamming open, the heavy oak rattling in its hinges as it hit the wall. 

“Sir, the king is still occupied--” 

“Where is she? Get your hands off, I am here to see my darling fiancé!” 

Dimitri turned to see Sylvain, looking disheveled and shaking a guard off of his arm. His face was flushed like he might have been drinking, but his eyes were ringed with a purplish-red that suggested something darker. 

“Sylvain?” Ingrid said, stepping forward, looking hesitant. 

“There you are! My bride to be, my Ingrid!” Sylvain shouted and then laughed somewhat wildly. 

Ingrid stepped forward and put a firm hand on his shoulder, raising the other to try to feel his forehead for signs of fever. He snatched her wrist before she could touch him. 

“What are you doing?” Ingrid hissed, struggling out of his grip and taking a step back. “Stop this, stop this!” 

“How was Galatea?” Sylvain demanded. “How was your dear old father?” 

“He was well,” Ingrid said desperately, “but Sylvain, please, what is going on?” 

“Don’t lie to me!” Sylvain shouted. 

The entire hall had gone silent. Sylvain’s heavy breathing was the only sound as courtiers and clerks all turned to watch. 

“Don’t you dare lie. I can’t-- at least do me the decency of telling the truth.” 

“Let’s discuss this somewhere else,” Ingrid said firmly, her arms going to wrap protectively around her chest. “You seem ill, Sylvain, I’m worried.” 

“Why did you say yes?” Sylvain asked, his voice abruptly changing from anger to misery. His face looked desperate as he stared at Ingrid like she’d just plunged a knife into his chest. “If you loved someone else, then why did you say yes?” 

“I love no one else,” Ingrid said firmly. Sylvain laughed darkly. 

“Then who was in your chambers last night, my love? Who was that man I saw you kiss? If it was not love, then why? Why?” Sylvain’s voice broke.

When he spoke again it was barely a whisper.

“Everyone thought it would be me, you know, to betray this promise. Everyone thought that.” 

Hushed voices began to break out across the court. Ingrid’s face crumbled. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed to whisper. 

Dimitri stared in shock at what was happening. He felt oddly numb, like it all might be a nightmare. 

Then Felix put a hand on his arm and he remembered that he was king. 

“Enough!” he said, his voice coming out in that low familiar growl he’d tried to forget. 

The sound of it stopped the whispers at once. Sylvain turned to look at him with a bitter smile on his lips. 

“Your Majesty,” he said almost mockingly. “I am only seeing justice done in your halls.” 

“You will leave my hall,” Dimitri snarled, “and you will return when you have remembered yourself.” 

Sylvain opened his mouth to protest and Dimitri seized him by the collar. 

“If you wish to question the honor of my knights,” Dimitri hissed into his ear, “then you will do so to me. To _me_ , Sylvain, and no other.” 

He released Sylvain who staggered back. Then he made a sound of frustration and stormed out of the room. 

Dimitri turned back to the court, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Ingrid was still standing, but seemed to be half-leaning on Felix for support. She looked like she might be sick. Everyone was staring at her. 

“Out!” Dimitri commanded, waving an arm. “All of you, leave us!”

Immediately, the room was filled with shuffling footsteps and creaking floorboards as the courtiers fled from the room. Felix remained, seeming to understand that he was not included. 

When the doors had swung shut again, Ingrid looked between Dimitri and Felix, tears at the corner of her eyes. 

“I didn’t do those things--” she began hoarsely.

“We know,” Felix replied immediately, his face grim. “You don’t have to explain.” 

Dimitri felt something burning rising up inside of him. It was that rage, that all-consuming poisonous rage that had driven him day and night for five years. He shut his eye and pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help. 

“Felix, could you…” he began, not knowing what to ask. 

“I’ve got her,” Felix said. 

Ingrid had finally started to cry, horribly ugly sobs in the back of her throat. 

“I don’t know what he meant,” she said through heaving breaths. “What did he mean?” 

“You did nothing wrong,” Felix told her, calm although Dimitri could hear that his teeth were clenched. “I’m going to bring you to Annette’s room, alright? You shouldn’t be out on the street.” 

Dimitri exhaled hard through his nose. At the edge of his vision he could see the shadow of Glenn. His expression was as murderous as Dimitri felt. 

“What am I going to do?” Ingrid sobbed as Felix began to walk her towards the stairs. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Felix said firmly. “Like you always are, Ingrid.” 

Felix cast a glance back towards Dimitri before he left, an expression of concern on his face. As they climbed the stairs, Dimitri distantly heard Felix snarl at a few ladies in waiting for staring. 

As soon as he was alone, Dimitri hissed through his teeth and staggered back to his throne. He put his head between his knees and ran his fingers through his hair. 

He couldn’t fix this. And he couldn’t lose himself, not right now, not when Ingrid needed him well and clear in judgement. 

But Sylvain had humiliated her, made sure it was public, made sure it was serious enough to compromise her position at court and her chances of ever making another match. And he had been right. Everyone had expected that Sylvain would be the one to betray his marriage vows. 

But no one would have condemned him for it like they would condemn Ingrid. They would not call her an incorrigible flirt. They would call her filthy, ruined, dishonorable. 

Dimitri heard the arm of the throne crack where his fingers were digging into it. 

“Dimitri,” Felix’s voice came from across the hall as he returned.

“You should go, be with Ingrid, I’m alright,” Dimitri hurried to say, rubbing his forehead and looking up. 

“She’s with Annette and Mercedes,” Felix said grimly. “I sent a messenger to Ashe and Dedue.” 

“And the professor?” Dimitri asked wearily. Felix grimaced. 

“She’s with Sylvain.” 

For some reason, that was all that it took. The ghosts seemed to crowd in towards him and the hissing of their voices muted out everything else for a moment. 

And then he felt tears dripping down his face. 

Felix knelt beside him where he sat in the broken throne and brushed one of them away with his thumb. It was such a strange and awkward gesture from him. His thumb was rough with callouses and his touch was hesitant. But his eyes were… 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said after a moment. “I know I am not the one who should be weeping.”

“Who said anything about should?” Felix said quietly. Dimitri bowed his head and sniffled a few times, feeling more tears spill down his cheek. 

“Thank you for helping her,” Dimitri finally managed to say. “When I could not.” 

“I would die for Ingrid,” Felix said in a voice that did not suggest a figure of speech. 

“But that would not fix anything,” Dimitri said helplessly. 

“Then tell me what would,” Felix said, placing a hand on his knee now and staring up at him. “Tell me and I will do it.” 

“I do not know what to do,” Dimitri replied, rubbing at his face as he tried to get himself better under control. When, he wondered, had Felix become the person to calm him instead of provoking him? 

When his vision was clear again, he saw that Felix was staring at him. His lips were slightly parted and his golden eyes were so intent and focused that Dimitri wanted to look away. 

“You know,” Felix said, his voice suddenly very gruff, “I love nothing in the world as much as you. Isn’t that strange?” 

Dimitri momentarily forgot how to breathe. 

Felix bit his bottom lip. 

“Please say something,” he finally begged. 

Dimitri had no words to say.

After the war, they had made a Mistake. There had been a few nights, a few nights back at the monastery as they were still making the unification of Fódlan an official matter, when Felix had come to his chambers at night and stayed. 

And Dimitri had thought, no, assumed, that Felix meant to make something of that. But as soon as they were back in Fhirdiad and back to the business of the world, Felix had drawn away. His words had turned sharp again and he dodged even the smallest touch. 

“I could say that I felt the same,” Dimitri finally replied, “but do not believe me. I’m not reliable. I will say nothing and deny nothing.” 

Felix looked puzzled. 

“I would swear on my sword that you loved me,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes I know you too well, better even than myself, and yet sometimes I am… very foolish when it comes to you.” 

Dimitri huffed and folded his arms, looking away. 

“Do not swear anything that is not true,” he finally said. 

“Then I will swear it,” Felix said gently, “because it is true. I know that you love me, Dimitri.” 

“I suppose then I must,” Dimitri relented, turning back to him. “For I should hate to make you dishonest.” 

Slowly, he reached down to clasp Felix’s hand in his own. His fingers were slender and covered in old calluses and scars while Dimitri’s still carried shiny pink burns hidden beneath his gloves. Felix laced their fingers together for a moment and then brought his lips down to kiss the top of Dimitri’s hand. 

“We cannot do this now,” Dimitri finally whispered. “I have to find a solution to this mess, but I am king and I cannot just… there are things I cannot say.” 

His hand clenched in frustration as Felix let go of it and stood. 

“Then have me say them,” Felix instructed him. “If you could, what would you do?” 

“Challenge Sylvain,” Dimitri said. 

Felix went silent. 

“Challenge him. Defeat him. Make him retract every word and every accusation,” Dimirti continued, ferocity making his voice low and gravelly. 

“He is my best friend,” Felix whispered. 

“And he has destroyed another of your best friends,” Dimitri retorted. 

Felix looked up at him with pain etched into his face. Then he nodded. 

“I will send him my sword tonight,” Felix said in a strained voice. “We did always swear to die side by side.” 

Dimitri closed his eyes. If Sylvain would retract, there would be no need for that. But he shivered at the thought of that expression he’d seen on Sylvain’s face. It was so familiar. It had reminded him of someone he hoped never to see again. He often checked the mirror for traces of that same monster. 

But it need not come to that. Sylvain need not die. So he thought. 

But when the guards brought word to his rooms that night that the body of Ingrid Brandl Galatea had been pulled from the river, his feelings rapidly changed. 

\---

The hill was cold the morning of the duel. It overlooked the city, home only to the ancient remains of a church from the days of Loog, and as such, it bore the full force of the wind. 

Felix tested his grip on his sword once again. His muscles were tense in the chill wind and he had to keep moving if he wanted to be limber enough for a fight. Sylvain would be using a lance, as usual, which put Felix at a natural disadvantage. Sylvain would have range and power on his side, while Felix would have only his speed. 

Annette and Mercedes were watching him, huddled together and identical in their concern. Annettte had come to his rooms that morning as he had attempted to choke down a few mouthfuls of food and begged him to rescind the challenge. He could not. 

Ashe waited at his side, his second in the fight. He shot occasional glances to Dedue who was waiting with Dimitri beside the church, the theoretically neutral royal observer. Felix watched Dimitri staring out at the field, wrapped in dark furs, carefully expressionless.

Sylvain arrived as the terce bells began to chimb distantly in the cathedral below. Byleth served as his second, her face stony and her eyes avoiding the shadow of Dimitri whenever possible. A few of the Knights of Seiros accompanied her, anonymous and somber in their silver armor. 

Felix tested his grip once more, letting the sword cut through the air a few times. 

Sylvain looked wretched. He must have heard the news about Ingrid’s body by this point. He was listing a bit to the side, as though he couldn’t quite stand on his own power. It would be an easy battle then, if he decided not to recant. 

And then Felix saw the lance. One of his retainers presented it to him, wrapped in a length of fabric. Sylvain jerked it out of the man’s grip and let the cover fall away. He’d brought the Lance of Ruin to a duel of honor. 

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Duke of the United Realms of Fódlan, you are the issuer of this challenge,” Dedue began to speak, representing the royal interest. “Are you prepared to fight or do you wish to recant?” 

“I am prepared,” Felix said grimly, “my challenge stands.” 

“Sylvian Jose Gautier, Margrave of the united realms of Fódlan, you are the receiver of this challenge,” Dedue turned to address Sylvain. “Are you prepared to fight or do you wish to recant?” 

Sylvain stared at Felix for a long moment. Felix drew his lips together into a hard line. They had been friends since before his memory began. They had always protected one another. They had sworn to die side by side. 

“I will fight,” Sylvain gritted out. 

“Seconds, have you attempted reconciliation?” Dedue began. Ashe stepped forward to the professor, ready to ask one last time if she couldn’t force Sylvain to see reason. 

It only took a moment before they both returned, shaking their heads. 

“There are no terms we find acceptable,” Ashe reported. 

“Then under the eyes of the crown, you shall fight,” Dedue said. “May the blessings of the goddess be with the truer cause.” 

Felix stepped forward, a lump forming in his throat even as he felt his body effortlessly shifting into his stance. He cast one final look at Dimitri. 

“Apologies my lords! Apologies! I am so sincerely, sincerely sorry, may the goddess strike me down for this interruption!” 

A deep sonorous voice came from behind him, huffing and panting between words. Felix spun around. 

It was Gilbert. The old man was struggling up the hill, his kingsguard armor gleaming in the sunlight as he finally made it to the top, dabbing perspiration from his forehead.

“Captain?” Dimitri cut in, stepping forward. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” 

“My king,” Gilbert said, immediately falling to one knee, “I shall never forgive myself for this rudeness, I swear it, I shall do penance a hundred times over for this act of inconvenience.” 

Behind him, a few other members of his battalion were struggling up the hill. They were dragging a bound man in dark robes, his pale face shining with sweat as they forced him to stumble up the hill. 

“Alright, alright,” Dimirti said, suddenly much more interested as he saw the prisoner. “You are forgiven. Who is this man you bring before us?” 

“I must resign my position,” Gilbert continued, still kneeling, “for I am unworthy of it, Your Majesty. This man, this fiend, was found bragging in the city that he had undone a lady of some worth and repute. He has confessed to performing dark magic to give one woman the appearance of another, all to sow discord within your court. And what is more…” 

Gilbert paused, his face going red as he struggled to find the words for this great indignity. 

“Father, please do speak somewhat quicker?” Annette suggested with some anxiety. 

“He did call me ass!” Gilbert roared, burying his head in his hands. “Me, Your Majesty, your captain of the guard of his most holy kingdom, and this man did call me ass. Let me be written down forever in the pages of the chronicles as an ass!” 

The man in the dark robes spit upon the ground before him, his gaze fixed on Dimitri. 

“May Agartha rise again,” he snarled. “I shall speak no more.” 

“Take him to a cell in the fortress,” Dimitri commanded the two guards who were holding him. “Gilbert, I thank you for this great service. Now, Archbishop if you could--” 

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Gilbert said, pressing his hand to his chest. 

“Yes,” Dimitri nodded, “in any case, if we could perhaps--”

“You show me more honor than I am worth!” Gilbert continued, his voice thick with emotion. 

“I am sure you are worth enough,” Dimitri said tightly. Annette stepped in. 

“Father, perhaps I should assist you in escorting this prisoner,” she said, helping Gilbert back to his feet, “I might be able to figure out what the nature of this dark magic was if I can get him to talk.” 

As Annette escorted the somewhat histrionic Gilbert back down the hill, the rest of the courtiers had all gone silent. 

Felix stared at Dimitri, unsure what he was meant to do now. 

He was spared having to decide by Sylvian who made a gagging sound and then collapsed to his knees, fists clenched in his hair like he intended to tear it out. His back shook as he began to spasm with sobs. There was something bizarre about it. Felix couldn’t recall Sylvain ever crying before, even as a child, even after Miklan. 

“Ingrid, Ingrid, no, no,” he whimpered, rocking his head down until it was pressed against the earth. 

“Do you recant your accusation now?” Felix asked. 

“I recant everything,” Sylvain gasped, “all of it, all of it. Oh Goddess above, Ingrid, oh Goddess.” 

Felix sheathed his sword. He took a few steps forward and crouched down in front of Sylvain. 

“I wish you had run me through before I learned what I’ve done,” Sylvain choked out as Felix laid a hand on his shoulder. “No punishment is too heavy for me, please, Felix.” 

“Stop your begging, it’s pathetic,” Felix growled. “Now get up and take responsibility. Say what you should have said to Ingrid were she still here.” 

“They found her in the river, Felix, in the river,” Sylvain said, looking up finally as Felix pulled him upright. His face was a mess of snot and tears. 

“Speak as though she were here now,” one of the Knights of Seiros commanded, stepping forth. 

“I--” Sylvain began. He swiped at his face with an arm and then spoke in a quavering tone of voice so that everyone could hear. “I would beg for forgiveness. I would denounce everything I said against her. I was tricked and, what’s worse, I was cruel. I was too blinded by my anger to trust the only person who ever trusted me to be better.” 

The knight who had stepped forth withdrew her helmet. Golden blonde hair and green eyes. She was smiling although there were tears in her eyes as well. 

“Then Ingrid is restored to you,” she said, “you really must remember that with Agarthan magic, two people may share the same face.” 

Sylvain went white. He glanced at Dimitri for a moment. Dimitri sighed and nodded. 

“She is real, I should be able to tell,” Dimitri said shortly, “the body they pulled from the river was most likely the accomplice of the Agarthan mage, the one you saw in the window.” 

Ingrid stepped forward although Sylvain still looked at her like he was expecting her to vanish into a mist if he reached for her hand. But then she folded him into her arms and with a rough cry he clutched her close to him. 

Mercedes began to applaud. Felix caught the professor’s eye and she winked before returning to her sober dignified expression. Dimitri’s face was more guarded. He did not forgive as easily, Felix knew, and his trust was a delicate thing. 

That, Felix realized with an unpleasant jolt, might have something to do with why he’d been so unfailingly aloof with him ever since the Mistake. 

The Mistake which hadn’t actually been a Mistake at all, it had just been Felix stupidly blundering away from the things he wanted, thinking it had all been a fluke doomed to fail the moment Dimitri’s mind changed again. Only he hadn’t changed. He hadn’t stopped loving Felix. 

Perhaps it was about time to do something about it, then. 

He turned back to Sylvain and Ingrid as he heard a smack and a grunt of pain. 

“And that is for accusing me in front of the whole court without so much as asking for my side of the story, you moron!” Ingrid said as Sylvain groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “If you ever, and I mean ever, do that again, I will fly you to the top of the highest cliff in the mountains and I will drop you, Sylvain, drop you!” 

“Next time I’ll just check if it’s the real you by your right hook,” Sylvain grumbled. Ingrid glared daggers at him and he raised his hands and shrugged. “Or with your favorite foods?” 

That answer seemed to satisfy her. 

“It seems as though this affair of honor has ended,” Dimitri’s voice cut through the crowd. “I invite you all to return to the palace now and to put this sorry business out of your mind.” 

As the rest of Dimitri’s court began the trek back down the hill, Felix hung back. He watched Sylvain and Ingrid bening escorted by the professor, Sylvain still stumbling as he walked. Felix realized his hands were still clenched into fists. He had come so close to… 

“Will you walk with me, Felix?” Dimitri’s voice came suddenly beside him. It took Felix only a single glance to read the strain in his posture. The morning’s events had clearly taken their toll on him as well. 

“Wherever you go,” Felix agreed with a nod. 

“I intend only to go down the hill,” Dimitri said with faint amusement. 

“I’ll start with that, then,” Felix replied. 

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Dimitri said, his eye fixed on the shapes of Ingrid and Sylvain. “Can love really recover from something so dire?” 

“In my own experience, yes,” Felix nodded confidently. “Tell me, for which of my many flaws did you fall in love with me?” 

Dimitri looked momentarily surprised, but then he replied easily. 

“It is so difficult to choose, Felix,” he sighed, “it is like choosing the sharpest point on a pincushion. Tell me, however, what virtue did you find in me that caused you to suffer love for me?” 

“It is impossible to say, although suffer is the right word for it,” Felix grunted in reply. He felt his face flush warm, ruining some of the impact of his next statement. “There are too many to count. It is like picking a favorite star.” 

“Ah alas,” Dimitri said, his shaky smile becoming a real grin. “I shall endeavor to have fewer for your sake.” 

“Well, I cannot get rid of any flaws,” Felix said with a shrug, “you’ve just confessed you love them all. So I will remain your rude and unpleasant advisor until the day that I die.” 

“I suppose that even if you whine and follow me around, I will only love you more for it,” Dimitri admitted. 

Felix snorted a rare laugh through his nose. Even when he did everything in his power to speak words of love, his tongue inevitably twisted them into bickering and chiding. And Dimitri rose to the challenge, as he always had, as he always would. 

“You and I are too wise to woo peaceably,” he finally said. “Perhaps a quick spar when we return? My nerves are still primed for a fight.” 

“Of course,” Dimitri accepted, “so long as you do not mind a loss. I know your pride might be affected if I were to toss you into the dirt." 

“Do not presume to know if I wish you to toss me into the dirt.”

“Felix!” 

“Incredible. I’ve finally rendered that infernal mind of yours at a loss. You’ll have to return to the master of puns so that you can find more vile jests to lob at me.” 

\---

The bells of the cathedral rung all morning on the day of Ingrid and Sylvain’s wedding. It was a crowded affair and half of the court of Fhirdiad had packed into the pews. It was said that the archbishop herself would perform the ceremony and many curious people of Fhirdiad had lined up outside to catch a glimpse. 

Dimitri had been allotted the royal bench at the front of the cathedral and he sat there rather anxiously, resisting the urge to keep glancing back over his shoulder. Felix and the archbishop were muttering to one another about something, but he had no excuse to stand and hear their words. 

Beside him, Dedue laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure everything is alright, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice filled with the reassurance he always sensed when Dimitri needed. 

“They are late,” Dimitri replied stiffly. “The procession should have begun ten minutes ago.” 

“Ashe has gone to check on Sylvain and both Annette and Mercedes have been with Ingrid all morning,” Dedue reminded him. “I am certain that they are both safe.”

“And if they have decided to call the wedding off?” Dimitri asked. Dedue looked at him seriously. Dimitri noticed that one of his hands had gone to rest on the ring he wore on his finger. 

“Then so be it,” Dedue replied. “I trust that our friends will come to the right decision.”

“But all of these people, Dedue, the entire city will know and assume--” 

“Let them assume,” Dedue cut him off. It was a rare thing for Dedue to speak so forcefully and Dimitri immediately fell silent. “I have spent most of my life bearing the burden of other people’s assumptions. You cannot allow it to dictate your happiness.” 

Just then, the doors to the cathedral burst open. It was Ashe, accompanied closely by Annette and Mercedes, all dressed in their finest and looking very flustered. 

“Um, my apologies,” Ashe announced, turning pink as everyone immediately turned to stare at him. “I am afraid there shall be no wedding today. The bride and groom have, um, well… eloped.” 

“Eloped?” Ingrid’s father shouted from his pew, struggling to rise with the aid of his nurse. “What’s that now?” 

“I’m afraid we all saw it. Lady Ingrid pulled Sylvain onto the back of her pegasus and absconded with him to fly around the country,” Mercedes said, apologetic but for the grin on her face. 

“Very romantic!” Annette chipped in. 

Dimitri heard people grumbling and shifting on the wooden benches. 

“It seems that the Goddess has seen fit to bless the union of Ingrid and Sylvain more swiftly than anticipated,” Byleth said calmly. “But with all of this finery set up, it seems a shame to waste it. Would anyone else care to be married today?” 

That drew a few dry laughs from the courtiers and priests. 

Felix stepped forward. Dimitri felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, like he would very much like to crawl under the benches and escape through the side door. 

“Um, where is the king?” he asked roughly. 

Dedue looked at Dimitri pointedly. On wobbly legs, Dimitri finally rose. 

“I have been called such,” he said, stepping forward. Every eye in the room was on him. He felt sweat breaking out on his back. 

Felix turned to face him. He looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon, his face was so pinched and nervous. There were bags under his eyes although he was neater than usual and Dimitri actually caught a whiff of some aromatic he’d apparently dabbed onto his throat. 

“Do you love me?” Felix asked. He looked as stiff as a corpse as he spoke. 

Dimitri felt his voice catch. Everyone was staring at him. Ingrid’s elderly father was here, for the Goddess’ sake. He couldn’t just… 

“No more than within reason,” Dimitri replied smoothly. “You are a valued advisor, Duke Fraldarius.” 

Felix’s expression turned from strain to fury. 

“Well then, your vassal was mistaken,” he fumed, turning suddenly to stare at Dedue, “he swore you were in love with me.” 

“Don’t you love me?” Dimitri asked in sudden fear. What an idiot he had been, acting in such a manner with Felix when it was abruptly becoming clear that all of this had been nothing but a prank. 

“No more than within reason,” Felix shot back, his voice a mocking parody of Dimitri’s. “I must love the king, right? It is required for my duties.” 

“Well then, Annette must not know you as well as I had thought,” Dimitri growled, whirling to face Annette who winced at the tone. “She swore you did.” 

“Dedue claimed you were driving yourself to misery over me,” Felix declared, stepping close with his fists balled at his sides. 

“And Annette said that you were pining for me!” Dimitri shouted back. 

“Pining?” Felix squawked, now turning to stare at Annette with an expression of pure betrayal. “Ha! Well, this is a mess, because I certainly am not!” 

“I am not either,” Dimitri said, looking coldly at Dedue before turning back to glare at Felix. “My affections for you are no more than a mutual respect.” 

“Good,” Felix shot back, like every moment they spoke was poisonous to him. He had folded his arms in front of his chest.

“Very good,” Dimitri replied, feeling his own face heating up as he turned back to face the assembled wedding guests. 

“Oh, enough of this!” Mercedes suddenly cried. “I am sure you both love one another, although for reasons I cannot fathom, you are unable to say it.”

Felix immediately began to shake his head in protest, but Annette stepped forward, drawing something from the sleeve of her gown. 

“In fact, I have here a song written in Duke Fraldarius’ own hand addressed to Dimitri,” she said, holding out the paper. Dimitri snatched it before Felix could make a dive for the parchment and held it aloft over his head to squint at the words. 

It was a terrible song. He had rhymed “with strength and speed you wield your lance” with “my heart leaps up and does a dance.” Dimitri felt nearly delirious as he saw, in Felix’s unmistakable handwriting, these fumbling words of love. 

“And I am afraid that I have here a ring his Majesty did commission to be made from the melted steel of his finest blade,” Dedue stepped forward, pulling something from the pocket of his coat, “inscribed with the name of Duke Fraldarius.” 

“No!” Dimitri groaned, but it was too late. Dedue tossed the ring lightly and although Dimitri lunged, Felix had caught it deftly before he could lay a finger on it. 

There was a gasp from the assembled wedding party as Felix inspected the ring. Dimitri tried to hide his face behind the parchment. 

“You melted a sword… for this?” Felix finally demanded, his eyes narrow and dangerous. Dimitri wilted. 

“Well, you rhymed lion and dandelion!” he retorted, “it’s the same word, Felix!” 

Then, very unexpectedly, Felix smiled. It was such a rare expression on his face, a totally unguarded smile as he clutched the ring tightly in his fist, that Dimitri was nearly struck dumb with it. 

“I suppose our hands have betrayed our hearts,” he admitted, then sighed very long with great exasperation. “Come on then, let’s just get this over with. But remember, it is only because I pity you.” 

He held out his hand.

Heart hammering in his chest, Dimitri slowly reached out and took it, ignoring the whispers breaking out now all over the cathedral. 

“Fine then,” he condeeded, “but this is only because you are a very useful advisor and I should hate to lose you to grief over me.” 

“Archbishop, hurry up and do it,” Felix said, turning back to Byleth. 

“Are you certain?” Byleth asked with a smile. “You would not prefer a longer courtship?” 

“Any longer of a courtship with this one will kill me,” Felix grumbled. 

“Can I have a moment’s peace from that sharp tongue of yours?” Dimitri lamented, and then he kissed him. 

That seemed to have the intended effect. Felix went completely silent. 

When they broke apart, Felix was so red he looked like he might have spent a day out in the hot southern sun. Dimirti brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes and Felix made a suppressed noise at the back of his throat and then lunged forward, kissing him back so fiercely that it nearly knocked Dimitri off of his feet. 

“Unfortunately,” Byleth sighed, “I must now cut off your hand as you requested, Felix. For you have indeed been converted to a married man.” 

“If anyone here dares to make a comment about that,” Felix proclaimed, unable to look as menacing as usual on account of the giddy smile still on his face, “you can try me with the sword and we shall see who loses a hand.” 

“If we’re all done making threats, hurry this along, Archbishop,” Dimitri urged Byleth. “We have waited long enough. The people are eager for dancing. As is the king.”

“I suppose then, for old times sake,” Felix muttered in his ear as the archbishop began the ceremony, “I might have one more dance left in me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter @cyranonic and yell at me about finally putting Gilbert in a fic


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